Adderall
by ReluctantSlashFan
Summary: Stiles slips something into Derek's drink with disastrous consequences... -No Slash! Sorry guys!
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, so I've very, very, very (like two days ago) recently started watching this show. It's all because YouTube hates me, suggested a Sterek fanvid, and I clicked on it to watch. Those two are freaking hilarious together. It's like the Dean and Cas friendship from the fourth and fifth season of SPN (though, Derek recognizes pop culture references and Cas doesn't t threaten Dean quite as much), and my curiosity was peaked enough to look up the show online. Then I watched all of season one. I am totally addicted now, and need to watch Season Two ASAP.**

**Anyway, I had this idea after the first episode I watched (Magical Bullet-I know, I watched out of order... sue me), and really wanted to write it. I'm not sure if I nailed the characters just yet, so please let me know, and I really hope you enjoy this.**

**I am merely a FanFiction writer... no profit for me. Thanks for reading, and drop me a comment if you can.**

**See ya in the next chapter!**

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Stiles hated the nights when the hunters, or Allison's _lovely_ family, staked out Derek's house. The Beta tended to stay away from the remains of his family home, and usually bunked with him or Scott (but mostly him). Of course, since Scott told the cops Derek was behind the murders, the older man had to deal with frequent police stake outs, too. So, Stiles was finding the werewolf staying at his place more and more often as the days went by. He was so used to the dark haired grump staying with him that he even stashed some old blankets and a pillow in his closet just in case.

Tonight just so happened to be one of those nights that he loathed, and when Stiles came home from lacrosse practice he found his window open and a dark silhouette sitting in the corner. "You know, I'd threaten to lock the window, but I have a feeling you'd figure out how to open it anyway," he stated flicking his light on to reveal his leather clad nuisance. Stiles couldn't be sure, but Derek's scowl might have had a hint of amusement in it. Though, he wasn't quite sure how someone could be grumpy and amused at the same time, but apparently Derek could pull it off.

"So, would you like pizza tonight or should I slave away over a hot stove for you?" Stiles asked jokingly, but, like always, his joke was met with a scowl and nothing else. "I'll order pizza then. Extra garlic?"

"That's vampires," Derek replied softly, annoyed.

"Are you sure you aren't a vampire? You have the whole Jason Patric/Keifer Sutherland _Lost Boys_…" the scowl turned into a full blown glare. "I'm going to order the pizza now," Stiles said gesturing behind him and walked out of the room only to rush back into the room to retrieve his phone from his bag.

He returned a few moments later to find Derek in the exact same position, yet now he was reading a book. Stiles looked around, wondering where exactly the werewolf got the book and how he hadn't heard him move from his spot. The last he checked, that chair was extra squeaky.

"You're like a cat," Stiles muttered putting his phone in his pocket. "Maybe I should get you a bell or something." Green eyes met his briefly before returning to the book. "Where did you get that anyway? I thought I put away…" Stiles' eyes settled on his open backpack. "What the hell! Are you just randomly going to go through my stuff from now on? Is there no privacy in this world anymore?" He looked at Derek, who hadn't looked up from the book, and blew out a deep breath. "Is it any good? I haven't gotten around to starting it, yet."

Derek closed the book, tossed it at Stiles (who fumbled it, but managed to catch it), and said, "_'__I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others-young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life."'_ It took Stiles a moment to realize that Derek had just quoted the book.

"You've read this?" he asked waving _The Great Gatsby_ in the air.

"A few times," the werewolf replied quietly.

"Do you wanna take the test for me?" Stiles questioned stashing the book back in his bag. "You'd be doing me a huge favor and we both know that..." Stiles trailed off, trying really hard to ignore the glare thrown at him. "We could go all, you know, Sponge Bob and Patrick. Except I wouldn't hide a walkie-talkie in my head and I doubt you'd try on my clothes," Stiles stated awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, seeking a new topic. "I ordered extra cheese and sausage, just so you know," he started, feeling his cell phone and remembering the phone call he had just made; food was as good a topic as any, "and I also ordered two because I've seen the way Scott eats and I'm not sure if it's the usual teenage stuff or the wolf metabolism at work…"

The room lapsed into a heavy silence. Stiles decided to start his homework, just until the pizza came, and grabbed his bag off his bed. Absentmindedly, he took _Gatsby_ out of his bag and tossed it at Derek before carrying the rest to his desk and getting to work.

It was always like this when Derek stayed over. Full of awkward one-sided conversations and long, drawn out silences. It wasn't Stiles' fault he was a chatty person, he got it from his mother. Of course, it wasn't exactly Derek's fault he was withdrawn and quiet, relying on white noise to pass his time; that came with losing his entire family in a span of six years.

The truth was, they were just too very different people. Had this been a sitcom, they'd be the twenty-first century's _Odd Couple, _or, well, the supernatural version at least. Okay maybe not _entirely _the supernatural version; Stiles was still human and Derek was human… seventy-five percent of the time.

The doorbell rang, dragging Stiles back to reality, and he realized he had been absentmindedly doodling on his math homework and had only finished one problem (and, if he wasn't mistaken, the answer was wrong). He glanced over at Derek, only to find _Gatsby _abandoned, in the middle of the cushion.

He heard muffled voices coming from downstairs and soon the door closed. It explained both the doorbell (the pizza was most likely there), and Derek's absence (he got fed up waiting for Stiles to answer the door). Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about Derek Hale answering his door, but somewhere, deep down, he knew he had a problem with it. He'd come up with a rant while he ate, he was too hungry to think now.

Tossing his pencil onto his desk, Stiles got to his feet. He headed out of the room and down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, jumping the last three and landing in a crouch. He started towards the kitchen, stopping in the entryway to study Derek. He was leaning against the counter, his back to Stiles, staring at nothing, picking at a piece of pizza.

"You're supposed to eat it," Stiles said stepping into the kitchen, moving around the counter to stand in front of the werewolf. Derek merely scowled, his face clearly saying 'shut up, Stiles.' "Or not. Hey, you paid for it, so you can do whatever you want with it. Wear it as a hat, glue it to your face like…" he trailed off when Derek shoved his slice into Stiles' mouth.

Choking slightly, Stiles spit the piece out. It landed on the counter with an audible _slap_ and he backed away from it, sputtering. "What the hell!" He shouted fixing Derek with a glare (though, he had a feeling it didn't look nearly as menacing as Derek's patented glares). "I could have died!"

"But you didn't," Derek retorted grabbing another slice. He then wandered into the living room, leaving Stiles fuming. The younger guy wrenched his phone from his pocket and texted Scott: _Come get your wolf buddy_.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed and the answering text said:_ Can't, date with Allison._

_ Cancel._

_ Already did three times._

_ Please._ He waited, but Scott didn't text him back. _Scott_? Still nothing. _I hate you_ was the last thing Stiles typed before stashing his phone in his pocket. He threw away the pizza that nearly killed him, and grabbed two new slices before heading into the living room. Scott was the epitome of whipped, the poster child for obsessed, so far up Allison's butt that he couldn't tell where his eyes ended and hers began. He should just step aside, let Allison take his place, Scott didn't need him…

"What's this?" Stiles asked glancing up at the television. Some weird, _History Channel_ documentary about old guys flashed across his screen. "I thought we discussed this; my house, my TV, nothing educational." He tried to grab the remote off the couch, but Derek swatted his hand, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Ow! Seriously? Why does everyone keep hitting me?" He tried to grab the remote again, receiving another swat for his efforts.

"Try it again, and I'll remove your head from your body," Derek threatened and Stiles left the remote alone. He settled in the easy chair kitty corner from the couch, munching on his pizza as he watched whatever the hell was on. _The History Channel_ wasn't _so _bad. Sometimes they had interesting stuff, right?

This was not one of those times. He sat through an hour and a half documentary about the thirteen colonies. Nobody, not even Derek, could find this interesting, and Stiles knew the older man was only putting up with it because it was driving him crazy. Well, two could play at that game.

"Last week Scott invited me to hang out with him, Allison, and Lydia. I'm sure _Jackson_ would have been there, too, had he not been out of town, and we started watching _The Notebook._" Stiles was pretty sure Derek rolled his eyes, but he couldn't be sure. "Have you even seen _The Notebook_, Derek?" Instead of answering, Derek grabbed the remote and turned the volume up a few notches.

"You see, it's about this guy named Noah and this girl named Allie. Now, I'm not going to lie, I fell asleep halfway through it, so I don't exactly know the ending, but I think that Allie girl ended up with that Noah dude. Of course, there was this old guy reading old Allie the story, and he might have been Noah, but he said his name was Duke, so maybe she married a third guy because there was also this second dude named Don or Han or something." Stiles snorted, the volume going up another notch. "Han Solo in _The Notebook_ would have made the movie twelve times better. He could have been in a floating old folks' home with Leia, telling her stories of when they were young because she had no memory…" Stiles slapped his forehead, the TV practically blaring. "Of course, I forgot to tell you that. I think, and I could be wrong, again I fell asleep during it, but I think Allie had Alzheimer's or something. Just don't quote me…" the remote flew at him, nearly hitting his ear, and Derek got to his feet and stalked out of the room.

"But I was just getting to the best part," Stiles called after him, a smirk on his face. He grabbed the remote and turned the channel. He knew he'd pay for that later, but right now victory was just too sweet, and he couldn't help embracing it.

**TW**

Derek was a light sleeper; very light. Every time he stayed over at Stiles' house, he'd wake up five or six times a night and it took a while for him to go back to sleep afterwards. He was also annoying when he was trying to get back to sleep. Sometimes he'd toss and turn, a few times he paced back and forth, other times he'd clamber out the window and sit outside on the roof, and once he left to go watch TV, making sure to keep the volume down to avoid waking Stiles' father. Of course, no matter what he did, he always seemed to wake Stiles.

Tonight, he was pacing; a steady gait, back and forth. He was barely making any noise, but every time he'd pass Stiles, his shadow would creep across the wall and scare the crap out of the younger guy. He had to constantly remind himself it was just the dark haired grump, not an angry Alpha coming to rip his throat out.

After the fifth trek across the room, Stiles sat up and snapped, "Oh my God, go back to sleep already." Derek threw him a glare and continued his pacing. With a massive eye roll, Stiles plopped back down, his head hitting his pillow, and watched the werewolf for a moment. For a second, he reminded Stiles of himself, when he hadn't taken his Adderall. Though, Stiles was more of a 'thousand words a second, hopping from one activity to the next' kind of guy. He didn't do _much_ pacing, nor was he that quiet, but it was the same difference. That's when an idea hit.

Stiles threw the covers off him, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed to get up. Derek stopped, watching him cautiously through narrowed eyes. "I'm going to get a drink. Do you want anything?" The werewolf shook his head mutely and continued his pacing.

Heading down the stairs, Stiles wondered how in the world he was going to pull this off. Werewolves had super senses and there was a good chance Derek would smell something fishy before he even bothered to take a drink. That is, if he accepted the drink at all because there was a good chance he'd just glare at Stiles, pour the offered drink over his computer, and continue pacing. But Stiles had to try something, he had to get up for school at seven and it was almost two now.

He busied himself with searching the fridge, looking for something that had a strong smell and could easily hide any additional scents. He could always mix it with alcohol, but he wanted Derek calmed down not dead (and it wasn't lost on him that a few days ago he was hoping Derek was dead), so that decision was out. He finally settled on a soda. One wasn't going to hurt him, and there was a good chance it'd mask any other smells, and the off chance Derek smelled something fishy, Stiles could claim it was a bad batch and just offer to dump it out.

He returned to his room a few moments later, carrying the soda, and said, "I brought you this," he held the soda up before placing it on his desk, "just in case you get thirsty."

Derek's pacing slowed as he eyed the drink, but his speed picked up shortly after. "Not thirsty," he stated quietly.

"I'm just being a good host," Stiles retorted getting back into bed. "Make sure you're quiet when my dad gets home. His shift ends at six." Stiles buried his head under his pillow, trying to block out Mr. Sourwolf, and actually managed to get back to sleep.

**TW**

It seemed like he was out all of thirty seconds before he felt someone plop down next to him and heard a familiar voice say, "Do you have anything to make a cake?"

"Wha?" Stiles sat up, bleary eyes meeting Derek's.

"Cake," the dark haired guy repeated slowly. "I think cake sounds really good right now. Do you have anything to make a cake?" He gave Stiles an expectant look, practically bouncing on the mattress.

"Cake?"

"Yeah, cake. You know, it's sorta like a sponge, you put frosting on it. It comes in chocolate or white. Sometimes it comes in other flavors, but I've never been a big fan of any of those other ones. And carrot cake? Seriously? Who mixes the deliciousness of cake with vegetables? And don't even get me started on that monstrosity known as fruit cake."

"What did you take?" Stiles asked after a long pause, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was still a little fuzzy, but a niggling part of him told him he already knew. He ignored that part for a moment, still watching Derek. He had never seen the older Beta like this. He was more of a 'quietly sit in the corner angsting, angrily shoving people into walls (namely Stiles), and telling people what to do' type of guy. He had never shown an ounce of excitement (or any emotion besides brooding, anger, and annoyance) in the few months Stiles had known him, and it was a little disconcerting to see it now.

"Nothing. I did drink that coke you gave me. It tasted kind of funny, you probably shouldn't buy the knock off brand anymore, and then I wanted some cake. Cake and macaroni, but you don't have any macaroni. You do have eggs, which is why I wanted to know if you had anything else to make cake?"

"The coke?" And then it hit Stiles like a bag of bricks. The Adderall must have been screwing with Derek. Maybe it worked differently for people who didn't take it or maybe it was just werewolves. He really should read those pamphlets his doctor gave him. "Are you okay?" he asked quickly, unable to staunch the worry in his gut. What happened if this didn't wear off? He could have accidentally broken an already broken man.

"Me?" Derek snorted. "Never better. Actually, this is the best I've felt since the fire." A wistful look crossed his face, but it was gone seconds later. "Is this what it feels like to move on? I should have done it years…" His eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face (and really creeping the hell out of Stiles). "Let's go see Scott. He'd love to hear all about me moving on."

"I thought you wanted cake," Stiles said quickly. He had to avoid unleashing this Derek onto Beacon Hills. With hunters and cops seeking him out, he'd be an easy target. There wasn't any doubt he could probably still protect himself, but there was also a chance he'd just want to chat and attempt to bond with them.

"Cake?" Derek's eyes narrowed, and for a second Stiles was reminded of the pre-Adderall Derek, but it was short lived when the older guy's eyes widened again, excitement crossing his face, and he asked, "Do you have anything to make a cake?"

"I'll see what I have," Stiles replied softly, crawling over Derek to get out of bed. "Stay here." He gestured around his room. "I'll be back." He backed out of his room, watching as Derek started laughing (again, he was really creeped out by the gesture). "What?" he asked freezing.

"Like Schwarzenegger. 'I'll be back,'" he said in a bad impression of Arnold. "You're like the, um…" Derek paused, his face scrunching up in thought. "…The Sterminator." He snorted, laughing harder, and Stiles rolled his eyes and continued out of the room.

Maybe this Derek wasn't _so_ bad. He was a lot less uptight, more fun, easily approachable. Stiles knew he'd have to figure out a way to snap him out of it, unless it just sort of wore off, but did he have to do it right this second? This was an ample blackmail opportunity staring him in the face, and Stiles would be an idiot not to act on it while he had the chance; consequences be damned.

He scoured his kitchen, trying to remember what went in a cake. He lucked out when he found a box of Betty Crocker cake mix. It wouldn't be from scratch, but it'd have to do. He carried the box back upstairs and, as he opened the door, he said, "I couldn't remember what went in a cake, but I found…" he trailed off, his stomach sinking when he noticed the open window and empty room.

Derek was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**I am now officially caught up with this show. Too bad the new season doesn't start for a while :(**

**Anyway, thanks for the reviews and alerts last chapter. I do not own these characters. And thanks for reading.**

**See ya!**

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"Shit," Stiles muttered yanking on a pair of jeans. "Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, shoving his feet into the first pair of shoes he saw. "This is bad. This is really, really bad." He grabbed a gray hoodie from his closet, stopping when he noticed Derek's jacket lying on the arm of his chair. "Can werewolves freeze to death?" he wondered aloud, but he still grabbed the jacket before collecting his keys and phone and hurrying out of the house.

Stiles had exactly two and a half hours to find Derek before his father got home. If he found Stiles' jeep missing, he would call in the cavalry and tear the town apart looking for him, or he'd just look very disappointed when Stiles eventually turned up home. Regardless, he did not want either to happen, so he set his phone for 5:45 and got in his jeep.

He tried starting it, but it was one of those nights, and the stupid engine wouldn't turn over. "Oh, come on," he snapped trying to start it twice more. He hammered on the steering wheel with the palm of his right hand, swearing under his breath.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, sending a quick text message to Scott: _Need help! Derek missing, jeep won't start._ He waited a few minutes, but Scott didn't text him back. _UR a terrible friend_, he typed, but didn't send it. Instead he cancelled the text and replaced his phone in his pocket.

Stiles tried his jeep a fourth time, but it still wouldn't start. With a groan, he settled his forehead on the wheel. He didn't want to have to walk, and there was very little chance he'd find Derek on foot. He turned his head, his eyes settling on the jacket next to him. _I wonder…_

He picked his head up, snatching the jacket off the seat, and searched the pockets. In an inside pocket, he found the keys to Derek's Camaro. Eyebrows raised, he chanced a glance over his shoulder before grabbing the keys and jacket and getting out of his jeep.

If he recalled correctly, and there was a chance he was wrong, Derek stashed his car a few blocks away, hidden away in an old storage shed, to avoid getting it impounded. Stiles checked his phone for the time then started sprinting towards the old storage garages hoping beyond hope the Camaro was still there.

**TM**

"Derek," Stiles said out the open window. "Derek, come here boy." He whistled, but realized how ridiculous he sounded and stopped right away. "Derek, I know you can hear me… I hope." Blindly, he grabbed for his phone, picking it up off the seat next to him, and scrolled through his contacts, hitting send on Scott's number.

It rang once before going to voicemail. "Okay, Scott, this is Stiles again. I'm gonna need you to get up and call me ASAP because, as I've said in my last four messages and the sixteen texts I sent you, I'm having a little problem. I've lost Derek because he is HIGH and I really need you to…" his phone beeped, getting his attention, and Stiles pulled it away from his ear just in time to see it die.

"Oh come on! You were fully charged earlier!" he exclaimed, glaring at the thing. "Why does this world hate me?" He tossed his phone onto the seat and continued to drive.

This was his fault. He had screwed up, trying something he really should have known would go to hell in a hand basket. Nothing much had gone his way before the whole 'Scott becoming a werewolf' fiasco, and since then it seemed to have gotten worse. Why did he think this time would be any different?

He caught a flash of blue from a cluster of trees and slammed on the brakes. He pulled Derek's Camaro onto the side of the road, turned the engine off, and scrambled out of the car. Or, he at least tried to scramble out of the car. He managed to get caught in the seat belt, nearly choking himself. He fumbled for the belt release and fell from the car the moment he was free. He hit the ground hard, slamming his elbow into the door.

Swearing, Stiles pushed himself to his feet, dusted himself off, and grabbed Derek's jacket before closing the door. He pocketed the Camaro's keys and jogged towards the area where he saw the blue. "Derek," he whispered. "Derek, are you out here."

He noticed something moving out of the corner of his eye, and froze. "Please be Derek," he muttered. "Please be Derek. Please, please, please be…"

"There you are," a familiar voice said and Derek dropped down next to Stiles from the trees. The younger guy jumped three feet into the air, whirling around in time to be engulfed by a pair of arms. "It took you forever and a half to find me."

"Yeah, well you didn't…" Stiles froze, his eyebrows furrowed. "A-are you sniffing me?" _Yes, yes he is_, he thought when he felt Derek's nose colliding with the side of his neck. "Stop it," Stiles snapped pushing away from the werewolf. He was actually surprised Derek let him go.

"Sunshine," the wolf said grinning.

"What?"

"You smell like sunshine."

"Okay, first of all: what the hell are you talking about? Second: how does someone…? You know what, I don't care. And third: why are you…?" Stiles' eyes widened when he finally got a good look at the werewolf standing in front of him. His gray Henley was covered in blood as was his face and his jeans. There was more blood in his hair.

Gut twisting in worry and fear, Stiles whispered, "Who did you kill?"

"What?" Derek looked down at himself. "Oh, this," he gestured to his bloody clothes and Stiles nodded. A relaxed smile crossed his face and he said, "Nobody. Jeez, do you think I have a death wish or something. No, you see, despite your friend's lies (what a lying liar he is) I have not killed anyone. Or, I don't think I have." A thoughtful look crossed his face. "Nope," he shook his head, "no one. Not now and not ever."

"Then what about…?" Stiles gestured to the blood.

"Oh, it's mine," Derek replied shrugging. He snorted, laughter bubbling up from his throat, and whispered, "I fell off your roof and then out of a tree. I landed kinda funny a couple times, probably broke a few dozen bones, but I'm alright now."

"You fell…?" Stiles stumbled forward, instinctually checking Derek over for injuries. "Did you…? What were you…?" He finished his search, stopping in front of the older man again. "You could have died!"

Derek snorted, shaking his head. "Very unlikely. I'm a werewolf, remember? Everything healed." He held his arms out wide and turned in a circle.

"Yes, but can you heal death?" Stiles asked hurriedly.

Derek stopped, his face contorting in thought again. He then shrugged and said, "I've never really tried. Do you want to test it?"

"No, no I don't," Stiles replied quickly, shaking his head.

"Of course, the Alpha did kinda kill me, so maybe we don't need to test it. I mean his claws went right through," he demonstrated by swinging his own claws upwards, "my chest." He looked at Stiles, a grin spread across his face again, his claws retracting. "Do you know what it's like to choke on your own blood? It sucks." He made a face, almost as if he could still taste it.

"But that doesn't matter," he continued, the face disappearing behind another relaxed smile. "What matters is I am here, alive, and so are you." He suddenly grabbed Stiles' arm and started dragging him into the forest. "C'mon, I want to show you something."

"I think we should head back to my house," Stiles suggested trying to break the werewolf's hold. He would have been better off ripping all his teeth out with a pair of pliers for all the effort he wasted.

"It's not far," Derek insisted continuing to drag the resistant boy through the woods. "Then we'll go back and… CAKE!" He turned to face Stiles, still gripping his arm, and said, "We should make cake."

"Yeah, buddy, we should, and that was what we were going to do before you took your little stroll, remember?"

Derek was quiet for a moment, thinking, but finally he turned back around and continued walking. "It's not far."

"Yeah, so you've said," Stiles replied drily. He looked down, remembering the jacket in his hands, and said, "Hey, I brought you this." He held up the leather jacket, and Derek turned to see what he was holding. "I'm not exactly sure if werewolves can feel the cold, or if they are able to freeze, but I just figured…"

"You brought me my jacket?" Derek asked slowly, eyeing Stiles in wonderment.

"Yeah, I just thought…"

"You really are my friend," the older man said.

"What? I'm just… Oh, and you're hugging me again."

"Sunshine," Derek muttered before letting him go. He took the jacket from the younger guy, shrugged it on, and then continued to drag Stiles through the woods.

"How does someone…?"

"Oh, right, your questions," Derek replied nodding. "Let's see, um, each person has their own, unique scent. You smell like sunshine, Scott is honeydew, my sister…" he was quiet for a moment, but after a deep breath he continued, "My sister was lilacs and then there was cinnamon…" he trailed off, cocking his head to the side.

"What does cinnamon…?"

"It doesn't matter," Derek stated softly. He then perked up and said, "We're almost there."

The rest of the walk was in silence, or, well, Stiles was silent. Derek kept up a constant chatter about nothing important making the younger guy wonder if that was how he sounded half the time. If so, he wasn't surprised Derek threatened him on a daily basis.

"…though, I'm not sure how you can call it a movie. It's more like they took a stack of home movies and edited…" Derek trailed off, letting Stiles' arm go. "We're here." He gestured around the clearing, a smile on his face. "This is where my sister and I used to go when we were younger," he said his whole body shaking with excitement. "We'd play wolf man and the huntsman, way before we knew just how big of a threat the Argents were." His smile dropped for a second, but it grew just as quickly as he continued to speak, walking in a slow circle around the clearing. "She hated when I was the huntsman because I used to catch her too quickly. She claimed I cheated…"

"Did you?" Stiles asked curiously.

"Maybe," Derek replied evasively, grinning the younger guy's way. "Though sometimes she deserved it; she liked to throw me into trees when she was the huntsman." The older man stopped moving, crossing his arms over his chest. A pensive look crossed his face and he said, "I miss her." It seemed, besides making him talkative and unfocused; the Adderall managed to loosen Derek's tongue, too. Stiles had a feeling it was more to do with his werewolf half than his human half.

"I'm sure that you do," Stiles responded softly, thinking of his own mother; he missed her every, single day.

He almost told Derek this, too, but a sudden feeling of intrusion fell over him. This was wrong, what Derek was revealing under the influence of medication, almost as if he was eavesdropping on a private conversation, and, again, he felt bad for what he had done. He had drugged the werewolf, made him spill his inner most secrets. Was he any better than the hunters?

Derek suddenly perked up again and he started back the way he came. "Since you promised cake," he started grabbing Stiles' arm on the way, "I want cake."

Stiles shook his head to clear it, looking up at the older man, and he said, "Okay, let's go make a cake." It was the least he could do after all, and he allowed himself to be dragged back to the car.

**TM**

"I used to go there all the time with my friends," Derek commented pointing out a diner as Stiles maneuvered the Camaro down the road, back towards the storage shed. It wasn't the most ideal plan, walking the few blocks back to his house, but it would be a lot less conspicuous if Derek's car wasn't sitting in his driveway when his father got home.

"Wait, you have friends?" Stiles had always thought Derek was a loner, probably that kid in high school that sat in the corner, reading books no one else read while being able to quote American classics. It was mean, sure, but he never pictured Derek with friends.

"Had. Past tense," the werewolf corrected turning to look Stiles' way. "They're probably all finishing up college now, getting jobs, having families…"

"Not worrying about an Alpha breaking into their houses and trying to rip their heads off," Stiles muttered glancing out the window.

"And that," Derek consented with a chuckle. "You're funny. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yep, you're definitely high," Stiles replied nodding. "Sober Derek Hale would never, ever admit I was funny."

"But sober Derek Hale must think it otherwise I wouldn't have said it," the werewolf retorted pointedly, pointing at his head. It was quiet for a second, but the silence was broken up by Derek flipping the radio on. "I met her there, too," he stated absentmindedly, flicking through the channels, forgoing the pre-sets.

"Who?" Stiles asked curiously, stopping at a red light. He thought a moment, and ended up answering his own question. "Cinnamon girl?"

"Yeah, Cinnamon girl. The scent actually fit her, too; spicy, yet sweet. Though, in all honesty, she wasn't really sweet, but I thought she was. It didn't help that I was seventeen, and she was almost twenty…" a wistful look crossed his face, and it wasn't lost on Stiles that he had seen that look several times that night. "I thought I loved her, and she just…" he shrugged and fell silent again. Stiles nodded, just as the light turned green, and began driving again.

Suddenly the car's speakers were playing an old song from the nineties and Derek's face contorted into a grin. "My sister and I used to sing this song in the car!" He turned it up and bobbed his head to the music. "Our dad hated it, but Mom always told him to leave it. She said 'They're getting along. Why ruin it?'"

"My mom was the same way when I was younger," Stiles stated, figuring it was about time he shared some stuff in return. It was only fair. "My dad had one of those old football games from the seventies, but he hated the noises it made when I played it. But my mom was like 'If he's being quiet, why take it away?'"

"See we have something in common, Stiles," Derek said after a short pause. "You lost your mom, I lost my whole family. We know what it's like to lose someone to something we couldn't stop. Though, I should have been able to stop it. She shouldn't have…" he shook his head, glaring out the window.

For a split second, Stiles actually thought the Adderall was wearing off, but he was proven wrong when Derek rolled down his window and stuck his head outside. He let out this howl, shaking the car, and Stiles very nearly drove off the road, white knuckling the steering wheel to keep from swerving.

"What the hell are you doing?" Stiles snapped attempting to pull the older guy back in the car. "You are going to bring the cops, the Argents, and a fricking angry Alpha down on us if you don't get back in this car."

"I'm just embracing the night, Stiles," Derek replied howling again. He then ducked back into the car, laughing. "You need to relax more. You're too tense."

"Too tense? T-too…" Did _Derek_ just call him 'tense?' Next to Mr. Derek 'Broody' Hale, he was the most relaxed person on the planet. Of course, that was when Mr. Broody was sober. Right now, he had a first class ticket on the Adderall train; next stop Crazy Town. And Stiles couldn't even rant and rave about what Derek was saying because it was _his_ fault the older man was this way.

"Yes Stiles, you're too…" Derek trailed off, his head whipping around, towards the window. He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, no doubt smelling something, and he said, "I smell her."

"Who? Cinnamon girl?"

Derek nodded, "She's close. Really close."

"Where?" Stiles asked just as a pair of headlights flashed and something slammed into the back of them, jolting the car forward.

"Right there."

* * *

**Would you believe it if I told you this was only supposed to be a quick two-shot? This story just doesn't want to be over.**

**Drop me a comment if you can and see you in the next chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

**One more chapter to go :)**

**I am still merely writing for fun... no profit for me.**

**Thanks for reading.**

* * *

Stiles had only ever been in one other car chase outside of a video game. He hadn't been driving, Scott had been, but he could still remember the headlights nearly blinding him, the terror rolling through him when Allison's aunt got too close to them, and the overall dread that filled him when he thought about the prospect of Kate Argent catching them. Now they were being chased by Derek's cinnamon smelling, crazy ex-girlfriend, driving a car that looked eerily familiar.

"Who was your ex-girlfriend again?" Stiles yelled as they were hit again.

"Kate," Derek whispered glancing over his shoulder.

"That's what I thought," Stiles replied pressing the pedal to the floor. "I kinda see, now, why you really don't want Scott seeing Allison."

"Take the next left." Was all the response he got, and the younger guy nodded, slowing down just enough to turn the corner. The Camaro's tires skidded underneath them, but Stiles managed to get control of the car and the pedal met the floor again.

"This is pretty awesome," Derek commented laughing. "I haven't been in a car chase since I was sixteen!"

"How the hell…?" _No, no time, Stiles_. "Never mind."

"It wasn't really a car chase," the older guy admitted glancing over his shoulder again. "It was more 'we were driving and the guy was shooting' type of chase. I may have been able to heal, but my friends weren't, so we sorta had to run. This, by the way, is more fun."

"No, no it is not," Stiles replied gripping the steering wheel tightly. "And I'm sure Sober Derek would not agree either!"

"Yeah, well, he's too uptight. He wouldn't know fun if it bit him in the ass," Derek retorted glancing over his shoulder a third time. "Pull over up here."

"Why?"

"I wanna talk to her."

"Fuck that," Stiles replied and went left, straight into the forest. Right now, Stiles really wished he had his jeep, Derek's car was not equipped to go off road, but he had to make do with what he had; even if it got dinged and scratched up.

Behind him, he watched as Kate overshot the road, but she braked quickly. As she backed up, Stiles took a sharp left and drove the car straight into a clump of bushes. "Okay, we're hoofing it," he said turning the Camaro off. He scrambled out of the car, made sure he grabbed his phone off the dashboard, and slammed the door.

"I still say if we just talk…" Derek started just as a bullet implanted itself into his open door.

"Nope," Stiles replied grabbing his arm. He yanked the werewolf out of his seat, surprising him, and started dragging him away from the car.

"What about my car?"

"We'll get it in the morning," Stiles promised ducking as another bullet flew at them. "You know," he added quietly, "if Kate hasn't set it on fire."

Stiles felt the tension in Derek's arm, and turned to see sorrow flicker cross the older man's face. Before the younger guy could ask about it, however, it was replaced by a look of pain as a bullet slammed into his shoulder. The force knocked Derek into Stiles and they fell into a tangled heap on the forest floor.

It was a confusing couple of seconds, but Stiles felt Derek move and soon he was being hauled to his feet. He wanted to make sure the dark haired guy actually healed, to make sure that they didn't have another 'magic bullet' incident, but another bullet implanted itself into the ground, near his feet, and he shook his head.

"Keep going," he said and grabbed Derek's arm again. He dragged the older guy as far as the highway, but then he stopped, letting his arm go, breathing heavily. Stiles leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, and tried to get his breathing under control.

"L-let's never d-do that a-again," he gasped tilting his head so he could look up at Derek.

"S-she could have…" he shook his head, stumbling slightly, his hand resting on a nearby tree.

"Was it a wolfsbane bullet?" Stiles asked straightening up, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't. He almost lost the dark haired grump once, he wasn't sure he could handle another against the clock adventure; especially when Derek decided that amputating his arm was the best option. There are just some things Stiles Stilinski wouldn't do, and cutting another guy's arm off was one of them.

"What?" Derek looked his way, his green eyes glassy and unfocused. "No, it…" he shook his head again. "I'm…"

"Okay, full sentences, buddy," Stiles stated, worry gnawing at his stomach. "You've been using them all night."

"'Head hurts," Derek slurred leaning against the tree, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Oh. Oh!" Realization dawned on Stiles, and his eyes widened. "You're crashing."

"Crashing?"

"Yeah, Sober Derek is coming back." _Crap,_ Stiles thought, _Sober Derek is coming back._ "Just try and stay awake until we get back to my house, okay?"

"'kay," Derek replied, still leaning against the tree.

"We should get going," Stiles suggested motioning behind him. "Before Kate finds us."

"Yeah," the older guy agreed, but still hadn't moved. "Yeah."

Taking pity on him, after all this wasn't his fault, Stiles moved forward and slung Derek's arm over his shoulder. "Okay, just one step at a time," he muttered helping the werewolf away from the tree. "Just one foot in front of the other."

They began walking at a slow pace, Derek tripping over his feet every other step, his weight leaning more and more into Stiles. The younger guy knew he needed to get the werewolf talking, otherwise he'd be stuck dragging two-hundred pounds of dead weight all the way home. So, he took a breath and said, "How's about…?"

"S-she's the reason," Derek slurred, cutting Stiles off. "She's the reason t-they're gone."

"Wait what?" Stiles nearly stopped walking, but he fought the impulse, forcing himself to keep going. If they stopped, if Kate caught up to them, they were as good as dead. Or, well, Derek was as good as dead. Stiles wasn't quite sure what she'd do to him, and he didn't want to find out either.

"I… trusted her," he murmured, his head lolling onto Stiles' shoulder. "S-she…"

"She set the fire?" Stiles muttered softly and he felt Derek nod. "What a crazy bitch."

"M-my fault, too; shouldn't have… trusted…" the werewolf's whole body sagged into Stiles, sending them both to the ground again. "Sunshine," he whispered before going limp.

"Oh, come on," Stiles snapped shaking Derek. "Wake up. Wake the hell up." He wondered if punching him would do any good, but Stiles rejected the idea straight away. He didn't quite remember his first Adderall crash, but his father swore nothing could wake him, and there was a chance the dark haired grump was going to be the same.

Stiles was just about to put Plan B into action when a pair of headlights started towards them. At first, he actually thought it was Kate, and tried to scramble to his feet, drag Derek out of view, but before he could get halfway off the ground, a station wagon parked on the shoulder of the road and a forty-something guy got out of the car.

"I-is he okay?' the guy asked eyeing Derek cautiously.

"Uh, yeah," Stiles replied hurriedly, looking up at the guy. "He just had a little too much, and I'm trying to get him home."

"Don't you have a car?"

"Yeah, but he was my ride and I couldn't find his keys."

"Where do you live?" Stiles rattled off his address, and the guy nodded. "I'm heading that way. I'll give you a ride."

"Thank you," the younger guy said, relief rolling through him. Finally, something went right tonight.

Together they managed to manhandle Derek into the backseat, Stiles making sure he took the side where the werewolf was shot (that was all he needed, this dude to find the blood). He didn't twitch once, nor make any noise, and that worried Stiles a little. Weren't werewolves notorious for waking up at the smallest sounds, the lightest touches? It was probably just the drugs working their way through his system, but what if it was something more? Was Derek sure that bullet had just been a regular bullet? Stiles made a mental note to check when he got home.

"So, is he your boyfriend or something?" Station Wagon Guy asked as he pulled back onto the road.

_Why does everyone assume…_? Stiles shook his head, drew in a deep breath, and lied his ass off. "He's my brother."

"Oh, sorry, I just…" Stiles merely grunted and the rest of the car ride passed in a heavy silence.

**TW**

It was ten to six when Stiles lugged Derek into his house. He had managed to get home in time. His dad would be none the wiser.

He hauled Derek up the stairs, dropping him face down on his bed, and raced back down the stairs to lock up. He then headed back up the stairs, ducking into the bathroom to grab some first-aid stuff, just in case Derek hadn't healed, and raced back into his room.

"Okay, please don't take this the wrong way," Stiles muttered letting the gauze, tape, and alcohol spill onto the bed. He moved to stand next to Derek, and manhandled him out of his jacket. He still stayed out, completely oblivious to the world.

Stiles tossed the jacket onto his desk chair, checking the wound over. Or lack of a wound. Derek had been right; it was just a regular bullet. Sighing heavily, Stiles leaned his head back, thanking whoever was listening. He didn't want to think about what he'd do if it hadn't been regular lead.

He stood up, suddenly very tired, and returned all the medical supplies to the bathroom. He returned to his room, wanting nothing more than to sleep. He took a few seconds to pull Derek's shoes off, another two to grab the last blanket out of his closet and throw it over the wolf.

"Sleep tight, Sourwolf," he muttered turning to the heap of blankets Derek had been using earlier. He then toed off his own shoes and collapsed onto the heap. He was out before his head hit the pillow.

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**As you can tell, I am taking creative license with the werewolf lore and medication. Most likely, they aren't effected this way, but what the hell? It's fiction, right?**

**See ya!**


	4. Chapter 4

**This is it, guys. Thanks to those who read, reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story. You guys are awesome.**

**I am thinking about starting another story, but I'm not sure if I should or not. Maybe if I get enough interest I'll consider it.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading, they are still not my characters, and drop me a comment if you can.**

**See ya!**

* * *

Stiles checked his watch, letting out a gust of air. It was nearly eleven, had he gone to school he would most likely be getting harassed by Harris right now. A part of him was actually glad he skipped today. Now he just had to think of a lie to tell his father when he eventually woke up, but Stiles was figuring the fact that he only gotten two hours of sleep (on top of many sleepless nights) would convince the older man that he was sick. But that wasn't his main concern, so he let it go for the time being.

He leaned back in his desk chair, letting his eyes settle on the still slumbering werewolf. He was being creepy, watching the older man sleep, but it served him right. Derek wasn't exactly innocent in the creepy department. There were a few times Stiles noticed him standing outside the school, hands buried in his coat pockets, just watching the building. He may have been keeping an eye on Scott (and making sure Jackson didn't spill their secret), but it wasn't any less creepy.

The main reason Stiles had taken a page out of Derek's book was because he was worried. He figured the werewolf would be awake by now. Stiles hadn't exactly been very quiet when he woke up. He had tripped over his shoes, crashed into his desk, and swore loud enough to cause the werewolf to twitch. But other than that, he had yet to wake up. Stiles just hoped that medication hadn't screwed him up somehow (or screwed him up more than he already was). He didn't need that on his already burdened conscience.

It was bad enough he had to listen to Derek spill his secrets, secrets Stiles had no business knowing. The Adderall had been a truth serum of sorts, dragging everything out of the older man, and, last night, he hadn't seemed to care that he had said any of it. Now, if he remembered the night before, he was going to be mortified and no doubt attempt to kill Stiles. And the kicker, it was all Stiles' fault.

Derek twitched again, and Stiles leaned forward, watching him cautiously. The werewolf twitched a second time, burying his head under the pillow. "Derek," the younger guy said softly. "Derek, you awake?" Derek groaned, trying to burrow deeper under the pillow. Stiles would have laughed, had he not been afraid for his life. Instead, he let his elbows rest on his knees and waited for the werewolf to open his eyes.

It was another few minutes before Derek sat up, squinting against the onslaught of sunlight pouring in from the window. "Shit, sorry," Stiles said springing to his feet. He brought the blinds down, sending the room into semi-darkness. "You good now?" he asked turning to look at the werewolf. Derek's dark hair was messier than usual, his usual scowl replaced by confusion.

"Where am I?" he asked slowly, looking around the room, ignoring Stiles' question. Realization dawned on him before the younger guy could say anything. "Your place? How'd I get here?"

"Me," Stiles replied softly, knowing the werewolf could hear him.

"Why?"

"Um…" Did he lie? He could try, but his heartbeat would give him away. Plus, Derek could easily remember when he woke up a little more, making Stiles' lies obsolete. The younger guy was up shit creek without a paddle. It also didn't help that he didn't even want to attempt to lie. This was his fault, he should tell the truth, but Derek could easily kill him.

"Okay, it's my fault," Stiles heard himself say. It seemed his conscience got tired of waiting for him to make a decision. "I wanted you to go to sleep, so I slipped some Adderall in that coke you drank…"

"What?" Derek snapped his face contorting into a murderous glare. It wasn't lost on Stiles that he hadn't attempted to get up, but if his look said anything, he had just killed the younger guy several different times, in several different ways, in his head.

"I am so, so, so, so, so sorry, and you probably want to kill me right now." Stiles backed up, putting the chair between Derek and himself. "B-but remember, my dad is just down the hall, so killing me just isn't worth it. I mean, you won't even get time to celebrate, you know, unless you jump out the window before…" _Stop, Stiles, you're giving him ideas._

Derek was still glaring at him, but he still hadn't moved, and Stiles was wondering what he had planned. Maybe he was going to wait until they were completely alone to rip his head off.

"L-look, I'm going to," Stiles crashed into his closed door, jumping, "go and make you something to eat. T-toast sound good?" Derek didn't answer one way or another. "Okay, toast it is. Do you like jelly? Butter? Anything?" Derek's body moved towards the edge of the bed. "I-I'll figure it out," Stiles said opening the door.

He backed out of the room, closing the door just as a pillow flew at it. He wasn't aware something so soft could make that kind of noise when it met wood.

* * *

When Stiles returned to his room, carrying a plate stacked high with toast, he found Derek lying on his bed again, his head buried under the pillow he hadn't thrown. He stiffened when Stiles entered the room, and if the younger guy wasn't mistaken, he growled.

"Hey, buddy, here's you toast," he said setting the plate on his desk. "I-I'll just leave it..."

"You know what I really want, Stiles," Derek responded softly, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Cake," Stiles muttered and Derek picked his head, giving him a questioning glare. "Sorry. What?"

"To be left alone."

"O-okay," Stiles said moving towards the door again. "I'll just go..." He had one foot outside the door when Derek called his name. "Yeah?"

"If you _ever _drug me again, I'll kill you," the older man threatned, burying his head under Stiles' pillow again.

"Gotcha," Stiles stated nodding, closing the door behind him. As he slowly head back down the stairs, he couldn't help thinking: _Sober Derek is definitely back._

_**The End...**  
_


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